Mentalist Episode Tag: Red Shirt, 4x9
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Jane and Lisbon continue their conversation about death and ice cream. On the fluffy side with a little bit of angst. J/L friendship. Spoilers, 4x9. No copyright infringement intended.


A/N: While this episode wasn't as great as some of the others this season, it did have some great moments, like when Jane pretended to be a psychic (that's always fun, and turning into a running theme in this season, hmmm), or Cho on Jane's couch, and, of course, the sweet scene at the end with Lisbon and Jane sharing ice cream. Naturally, I took it from that point, lol. One thing I did do with this tag was attempt to liven Lisbon up a little, especially at the beginning. As a result, some of the things she was saying might sound a little Jane-esque. Since she seems to keep drinking the Jane Kool-Aid, going along with his every scheme, it somehow seems appropriate, lol.

**Episode Tag: Red Shirt, 4x9**

"Well," Lisbon said to Jane, between bites of hot fudge sundae, "if you don't care how you'll be remembered, you could at least write your own epitaph. I know you always like to have the last word." She smirked a little at her own joke.

Jane contemplated this a moment, choosing to ignore her snarkiness.

"Okay," he said at last, "here it is: _If he had really been a psychic, he would have seen this coming."_

Lisbon laughed, then nearly choked on her ice cream. She reached up to put a napkin over her mouth. "Seriously?" she said, when she could speak again. "Not something more, I don't know, _meaningful?"_

Jane shrugged, using her momentary distraction to spoon out an extra mouthful of fudge. "It's funny, it's to the point, it reflects what I did in life…seems fine to me. But let's turn this back on you, Agent Lisbon. What would you put on _your _tombstone?"

Normally, Jane didn't like to talk about death at all. It was easier to think that those who died weren't somewhere in some otherworld watching over him and all his mistakes, judging him, mocking him, or even crying for him. What's more, even if there were a Heaven, he didn't think he'd be allowed to see his loved ones again, not with all his sins. Yes, it was easier to choose not to believe in an afterlife at all. But when he thought now of Lisbon dying, no longer existing on any plane, his heart squeezed a little. He quickly amended his last comment.

"Of course, it will be someday when you're very old, and very gray…"

"Hmm, how about…_veni vidi vici_?" she suggested with a twinkle.

Jane rolled his eyes. "Come on, you can do better than that."

"What? It's a classic. It's Latin, so it sounds very distinguished," she defended. At his stern face, humorously incongruous with a grown man eating ice cream, she laughed. "Okay…_Here lies Teresa Lisbon. She saved the world. A lot."_

"Already taken," he said, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Well, since neither of us did a great job with our own, why don't you write mine, and I'll write yours," she said in mock frustration. She dipped her spoon into the sundae glass, and, finding it empty after his last spoonful, gave him a dirty look. She dropped her spoon inside and it tinkled against the sides of the glass.

"Ah, a challenge," he replied. "Do we have a time limit, or do you want me to come up with something off the cuff?"

"Be ready tomorrow at this time, at this place. Lamest epitaph buys the ice cream."

"All right, you're on."

"And if I die in the meantime," she said, rising from her chair, "Go ahead and use my Latin quote, will ya?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day, Lisbon arrived at their table of the Riverside Landing Cafe, contemplating the free banana split she was about to consume. She felt secure in her choice of epitaphs, although she'd been up all night trying to come up with something suitably…Jane. It was more difficult than one would think, even though she'd known the man the better part of a decade. He was complicated, to say the least, and a sentence or two was not enough to summarize who he was, or what his life meant.

The point of this entire exercise was to show Jane that what we leave behind-our words, our deeds-_do_ matter, regardless of one's religiosity or lack thereof. Lisbon honestly believed people were given one life on earth, whether one believed in God or not, so what we do here has to mean something, or else why bother living? For a reason she couldn't quite define, it was important to Lisbon that Jane realized this fundamental truth. The Catholic in her couldn't help worrying about his very soul.

Jane arrived, a confident look on his face. He sat down across from Lisbon, folding his hands neatly on the table before him. He looked at her expectantly.

"You bring your ice cream money?" he asked her self-assuredly.

"Don't be so cocky. If yours is so great, you go first."

"Fine, Lisbon. But the brownie sundae is calling my name today, and it's the most expensive dessert on the menu."

He cleared his throat dramatically, then, without benefit of a written reminder, he said in a voice filled with gravity: "_I did my best, world._ _Jane's your problem now."_

She sat a moment, jaw dropped in surprise, then, finally, hurt. "You think my life is all about you?"

"Well, isn't it?" he said wryly. "Aren't I the very bane of your existence? Won't it be a relief when you die someday and you don't have to deal with the likes of me anymore?"

"I don't _believe_ you," she said, shaking her head in disappointment. "I should have known that you wouldn't take this seriously."

"Lisbon, this _isn't_ serious. You'll be dead. You won't care what's on your tombstone. Besides, I should think the epitaph I wrote for you would be the ultimate in comfort for your soul, since you believe in that sort of thing. I would imagine Heaven would not welcome me anyway, so you should be relieved you're safe from me in the great hereafter. That epitaph is just a lovely reminder that upon your death, you'll be free of me at last."

"Stop that. Stop with the self-pity."

He laughed. "Oh, Lisbon, I'm only joking. It's not like you to forget your sense of the absurd. Come on, I've shown you mine; your turn."

Lisbon realized she might be acting a little oversensitive, but she really believed he was at least half-serious.

"You missed the point entirely. As much as I will be relieved when you are ultimately out of my hair (especially at moments like this), I think it's important to examine how others might see us. I thought you'd find this interesting, your being the expert on human behavior and all."

"Sorry Lisbon," he said, sounding remorseful, at least. "Please, share what you wrote for me; I can take it. I've already resigned myself to buying the ice cream."

She sighed, not caring about the ice cream anymore. All she wanted now was to get this over with.

"Fine. Here's the epitaph I wrote for you: _He was an imperfect man, but a perfect companion. He'll be missed."_

Jane looked at Lisbon solemnly, truly touched. His vision went a little misty for a moment, and he cleared his throat self-consciously.

"Thank you," he said softly, looking into her eyes.

"You're welcome." She smiled a little, and he knew he was forgiven. "Now go order me a banana split," she told him, "because I obviously won. And make sure you ask for extra fudge this time."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a grin, rising and heading for the counter.

They went back to their usual light banter while they ate, but Lisbon could tell Jane's heart wasn't completely in it. He really had seemed affected by what she'd written for him.

When their bowl was empty, she looked at her watch and sighed.

"Time to get back to work, I'm afraid. You coming?"

He sat back in his chair, his hands resting lightly on his full belly. "Sure. The couch is calling my name again."

She smirked, and they both rose reluctantly to their feet.

"Oh, and Lisbon," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small slip of paper. "Here's the _real_ epitaph I wrote for you."

Lisbon looked down at the yellow paper, then up at Jane in surprise. He left her standing there by their table alone while he quickly made his escape. He was obviously struck with uncharacteristic embarrassment, so he'd slipped away as if a victim's family member were trying to thank him. She watched the familiar gray suit coat disappear around the corner of the rooftop café, then her eyes went back to the paper she held, the words written in Jane's old-fashioned, flowery hand.

_Teresa Lisbon. She was my friend. She was my hero. She was my savior._

"Geeze," she said softly to herself, the paper going blurry a moment. She reached up and wiped at her eyes. "Talk about a hit and run."

Lisbon stood by the table so long that the waitress asked if she was all right. She nodded her thanks for the polite concern and began her own, much slower trek back to the elevator.

Whether Jane wanted to admit it or not, he was a man worth remembering, possessed a soul worth saving. As damaged as he appeared on the outside, inside she suspected that he was healing, was changing, was growing. But like all of us, he still had a long way to go.

And if he thought of her instead of God as his savior, well, she certainly had her work cut out for her.

Also, she thought with a watery smile, she believed she owed him a brownie sundae.

**The End**

A/N: I almost didn't post this odd little fic. It's was one of those that took an unexpected turn while I was writing it. (You fellow authors out there probably know what I mean.) Chalk it up to my weird mood the past few days. Anyway, thanks for reading this. And if you saw some redeeming value in it, please let me know. Oh, and thanks to those who followed me over to the "Castle" tag I wrote for "Cuffed." Great to see you there!

P.S.: I'm re-watching Simon Baker's old show "The Guardian" from the beginning through season 3. If you've never seen this show, boy are you missing something! Simon's character Nick Fallan is jarringly different from Patrick Jane, but he is so damn good in this role, and the entire cast is wonderful. It is a deeply quiet show, with flashes of pain and romance and all-around brilliance (and SB looks so young and beautiful!). I'm really not exaggerating. You owe it to yourself as a Simon Baker fan to watch this gem! Hey, do it over "The Mentalist's" long hiatus. You won't be sorry.

And that preview for next week! OMG! The Jisbon shipper in me is doing backflips!


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